#wyrm off the string

[junijwi]

lazarus as a wyrm

[lynx3000art]

RAYQUAZA ON A STRING, WHAT WILL SHE DO

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Her name is silly :3

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Artwork @lynx3000art // Character @lynx3000art

Twitter • Discord ( 16+ ) • DeviantArt • Furaffinity • Bluesky Commission Info • Ko-fi • Toyhouse • Art Fight

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[solarpoweredflyingbluetoaster]

Drew it and made it my phone wallpaper. You should do that too

[thiswyrmdraws]

Autiswyrm pride!!

If you like my art and would like a piece for yourself, I’ll draw you a dragon if you donate any amount to Crips For E-Sims For Gaza! 🍉

[thalwri]

from ashes to warmth

sylus x fem! reader

synopsis: you return from a hefty battle against a few wanderers to face yet another fight to protect your home– or at least what's left of it. with nothing left, you force yourself to find refuge and there's only one person you know who can keep you safe.

warnings: angst, fluff, teasings towards smut, more fluff, mentions of death, teasing, quite suggestive

word count: 3,4k

minors don't interact.

it wasn’t supposed to go this way.

hunters were swarming around your apartment’s entrance as you returned from a gory mission. skin sticky with blood and sweat, body limping with small cuts and bruises, you didn’t have the energy to question their presence. but then you were forced to when they didn’t allow you inside.

“there’s an active metaflux in the estate,” xavier, one of your close companions, muttered while stifling a yawn. he was also dressed in his hunter’s uniform and slightly ruffled so he was just as surprised as you. even if he didn’t show it. 

“hunters aren’t speaking on it because there are a few civilians within the area.” he tugged you to a more secluded corner of the bustling crowd full of gown and slipper-adorned hunters off duty. “if the wrong person catches word, a few things will end up compromised– including the integrity of our safety.”

“guess that’s already been hit.” a bitter chuckle brewed in the back of your throat as you glanced at the seemingly calm estate you live in. it looked fine, and there weren’t any surrounding wanderers you could see.

unless they were already inside.

you could feel the wounds you wrapped throb in discomfort as blood seeped through a deeper cut on your arm. the flamma ignis and polar wyrm that attempted to rip your limbs off had done enough damage to put you out of commission for a few days. you still had to file your mission report on top of that–

crackle– BOOM!

the ground trembled beneath your feet as a shockwave threw you off your balance just enough to make you stumble back. the screams of the hunters around you were deaf to your ears, the intense ringing of the explosion piercing through your skull as your vision cleared from the bright orange and green blur before you.

bodies flew and thumped before you. their lifeless bodies had strings of smoke flowing above them, almost like their souls were ascending before your very eyes. slowly, you turned your gaze to the home of many– your home– reduced to rubble and ashes and sprawling with wanderers of all grading. the standard, elite, and superior all heading towards you.

it took hours to eliminate them all. the hunters that were equipped and lucid enough to fight were on the front lines. the rest of the hunters either went to the nearest hunter-residence to collect as many weapons as possible to support the fight which was much needed.

you and xavier stood within the front lines for the first portion of the battle that had felt endless, surging on through your pain and frustration towards the fact that your apartment was effectively destroyed– unable to cry or grieve but only allowed to scream out the fury with each gunshot and stab of the blade until there was nothing but protocores left.

the sound of a crow’s caws ran through the growing silence amongst the hunters, a silence of mourning accompanied by the crackling of the flames within the rubble. the emergency services had arrived, taking in as many of the injured as possible, and the paramedics adorned in black cloaks took the bodies of the deceased. 

one by one, the hunters dispersed, booking nearby hotels or calling friends and family to stay with at least until the apartment estate was rebuilt. you remained, still trembling with shock and disbelief, for near an hour. xavier had left saying he had a few things to settle and suggested you find a hotel before they were all booked out. you lied, saying you had a place.

well, you did. but your grandmother’s home also suffered the fate of an explosion.

you discretely listened in to the investigation taking place to your left. speaking in hushed whispers while some hunter’s watches illuminated a recollection of what had taken place. word of a radio-frequency chip being found in one of the elevators, whispers of some people still being inside at the time of the explosion, mutters of transmuted humans and the potential involvement of the company known as ever…

all leading to a single answer: this was no accident. you were all being targeted.

and whoever set it up succeeded. 

your territory is gone. and now you’re bare and open to whatever wishes to devour you.

unable and unwilling to hear more as much as your curiosities were piqued, you limped to your 270hm and placed the helmet over your head. another cry of the crows filled the silence of the night, almost consoling you as tears finally ran down your face. you didn’t know where you were going. you just drove.

you drove through the traffic and the wails of the ambulances, you drove through the quiet of the bloomshore district, and you raced the hypertrains of Azure Square and through the outskirts of the city until you found yourself stopping at a familiar luxury estate. 

you picked your phone out of your pocket, fumbling through your contact list until you found his name. the line barely rang before the call picked up. your words choked at the tip of your tongue, your breathing grew laboured as you struggled to put your thoughts into words.

you were terrified, in pain, and distraught. you didn’t know what to do or how you’d be able to tend to your wounds. the hospitals across the city were stacked, and your usual medical companions were likely occupied for the next few days. 

at this rate, you were beyond your wits end.

“kitten?” his deep voice engulfed you in comforting warmth. as you removed your helmet, a familiar ruby-eyed crow landed on your motorcycle. mephisto relentlessly cawed hopping on your uninjured thigh to nudge you. if it were any other occasion you would have threatened to eat him. this time, you appreciated him.

“i’m here,” you whispered, staring at the entrance to his mansion. one of the great many he owned.

“i know.” the large doors opened to reveal the pale, silver haired man before you. his hair was damp, his red and black blazer was draped over his shoulders almost as if he had rushed to put on some clothing after taking a shower.

sylus held his hand out to you, wordlessly requesting you join him inside. whether it was the gesture or you losing you grip on your emotions, you didn’t know but you found yourself bursting into tears. 

within an instant, a shadow of crimson and black feathers formed by your side and his warm calloused hands held you. you instinctively held him in your pained embrace, crying through the agony of your wounds, the grief of watching some of your colleagues pass in the midst of battle, and the overall disarray of losing practically everything you owned. 

sure, some things can be remade or retrieved from the cloud but that didn’t console the hurt. 

the misty shadow of sylus’ evol engulfed you both until you were flat above him on the bed of one of the many rooms in the property. the firepit was burning, sending a more comforting aroma to you rather than that of burning concrete and other things which you preferred not to dignify with words anymore.

you allowed yourself to shake as your cries echoed around the room, sylus chose to remain silent and comfort you by stroking your back, glancing at your wounds and calculating what he had to attend to first– comforting you or ensuring none of the injuries got infected. you appreciated his quiet care, the gentle touch of his hands and his chin rubbing the top of your head calmed you down just enough to push out a few words.

“the– the apartment estate… it– it–”

“i know,” he whispered as his grip tightened on you but not too hard to affect your wound. he gently pressed his lips on the top of your head. “i know.”

a heavy sigh left your lips in gratitude. you felt so sticky and gross and you were messing up his bed. you couldn’t help but feel bad.

“i’m sorry,” you quickly sat up, groaning at the pain growing throughout your body. “i must be making a mess–“

“there are many more beds, kitten.” his lips curved into a careful smile as his hands hovered around you just incase you lost your balance. “there are more important things to deal with. like that cut.”

you didn’t even get the chance to agree, he immediately swept you up with one arm– the other working at removing your shoes. he sat you on the side of the sink to turn on the shower. the cold touch of the porcelain sent shivers through your body. the mirrors blurred with steam, your body began to warm as a thin layer of sweat formed over your blood and dirt-stained skin. 

you hadn’t realised you zoned out until the sharp sting of disinfectant hit the open wound on your arm. your top and pants had long been removed, leaving you in your most comfortable state with the man you were most comfortable with. sylus carefully dabbed a disinfectant-drench cotton ball on each wound until they were reasonably cleaned of the blood and dirt. he gently wrapped your arm with a bandage, holding a thin layer of gauze directly above the cut, until it was snug on you. 

“next time you decide to fight over one hundred wanderers, do call for help.” sylus tutted, tossing the dirty cotton balls in the bin. “i was going to come when mephisto informed me– but i had gotten occupied by some temporary business partners.”

“you would have left and compromised your safety?” you sniffled, almost tempted to laugh. “it’s almost like you want me to hand you over to the Hunters Association.”

“i have a few friends there,” he gave you his signature smirk. “i think i’d be just fine.”

he had muttered something about preparing a room for you and left you in the bathroom to clean up and dress into some comfortable wear. your shower was long, filled with pockets of thought, regret, and semi-aggressive scrubbing to wash off the gunk sylus hadn’t cleaned. 

if the apartment wasn’t rebuilt soon, you’d have to make a request to carry out your missions more towards the areas surrounding the n109 zone. you wouldn’t be neglecting your work and you’d also have a place to stay. and from your previous conversation with sylus, you had full access to the power and connections onychinus had. you were safe. and he made sure of that.

you smiled to yourself as you stepped out of the shower to find a set of his clothes placed by the door for you. he had learned that you enjoy wearing his clothes so he always left some of his at your apartment whenever he visited. you felt guilty considering all those expensive adornments were now destroyed. he would probably stare at you then order the exact clothes online to show you they were easily replaceable. 

but his brooch– the one he gave to you while you hated him– that always stayed on your person. you took it with you on every mission, assigning it as your lucky charm, your protection charm, and a physical reminder of his permanent presence in your life. he would always be there for you, even if you hate him for it.

you found him in the living room of the house, carrying multiple pillows in his arms as he walked towards the couches. there were blankets, plushies, and an array of snacks lined up on the coffee table. the television was on and paused at the beginning of a film, waiting for you to settle down and binge on anything you would choose.

he motioned for you to join him as he sat on the carpet, reaching out to eat. “the food won’t eat itself.”

you wasted no time to dig in, relentlessly having a bit of everything and you could just tell from the intense flavour that he made it himself. in the background of your shameless consumption, a movie played in a lower volume opening the opportunity for conversation.

you casually slipped the information you had partly overheard while zoning out once the chaos cooled down. sylus carefully listened as he ate, maintaining his attention to your every word.

“and from what we know, ever has been producing those chips,” you added before quickly munching on another spoon of dessert that he baked. oh goodness you loved whenever he made food. “tenebras are also being suspected to be involved. i’m not surprised. the last time a hunter went rogue was a month ago and our codes and systems still haven’t been updated to strengthen security.”

sylus carefully hummed, tapping his finger on the corner of the vintage wooden coffee table. you recognised that habit, along with him fidgeting with a coin as a physical representation of him being in deep thought. if what you heard was mostly accurate to his other suspicions then the attack would be part of a larger scheme.

“but it’s too complex and deep to think about without enough information.” you took the words right out of his mouth. you wiped your mouth with a napkin, shrugging off the tension building in your shoulders. you glanced at your bandaged arm with a slight grimace, still feeling the painful sting of the events earlier that night.

the coffee table was pushed further away from the couches for the two of you to create a makeshift fort comfortable enough for you to rest in. you were tempted to throw a few pillows at him but your physical exhaustion rendered your ambition futile. 

sylus rested on the mini fort, both comfortable and serene. “don’t let this spot get cold, kitten,” he patted his chest and beckoned for you to come down to him. a gentle gust of his evol guided you to draw closer and closer until your legs were tangled with his. 

a giggle erupted from you. “you could have just asked.”

“i did.”

you plopped down beside him, cushioned by the blankets and pillows and the warmth from the room. you shared a momentary silence– it was like it was just the two of you alone in the world. like all your problems were dust against the push and tug of the wind. you felt so secure; so grateful.

“thank you, sylus.”

“there is nothing i wouldn’t do for you.”

your eyes darted to each other’s lips, silently communicating a mutual want. 

“you must remember that you will always have access to everything i own,” sylus muttered, moving closer to you. your lips were less than a breath away. “everything.”

and that included him. you brushed your finger over his temple, eliciting a soft noise to leave his lips– almost like a purr. for someone who relished in calling you a kitten, he seemed more like a cat to you.

you leaned forward, finally closing the gap between your lips. it was a brief, gentle kiss. one of gratitude and adoration. when you pulled away he stared at you, with a flicker of bewilderment crossing his eyes before he returned the gesture– just as a soft, just as delicate but for a second longer. 

enticed eyes and widening smiles were shared in the silence of your giddiness and your lips collided again, this time with your embrace on each other tightening. his hands slowly ventured down to your thighs and guided them to wrap around him to pull you in much closer. he gently nibbled your lips ravaging you like a delicacy that he’d only have once, ensuring he savoured every bit of you. 

your arms coiled around his neck and broad shoulders almost instinctively, tangling your fingers within the dangerously soft tufts of his hair, scratching his head just the way you knew he liked it. he groaned into your lips and automatically pushed his hips into yours, making it very clear that even the simplest touch from you had the power to ignite him with need for you– utter devotion for you. unadulterated love for you and you alone.

“you’re not wearing anything underneath, are you?” he grinned against your lips, kissing your skin from the corner of your lips, to your chin, to the start of your neck, all the way down with a searing swipe of his tongue until he reached your collarbones. his hands gently travelled under his dress shirt, creeping up your abdomen until they reached the swells of your chest and greeted them with a gentle squeeze. you gasped, feeling his touch shoot tingles down your spine and into your core.

“so you aren’t.” 

“i doubt you are either,” you bit back, glancing down at the growing tent between his legs. “considering you changed into grey pants.”

“i like the colour.”

“as if.”

“as if?” his teeth sank into your skin and licked over the sting to soothe it. “i think,” kiss. “it’s just a minor coincidence.” kiss. “like you wearing nothing underneath my clothes.”

you stifled a small yawn. “mm, maybe so.” sylus quickly raised his head, further messing his already ruffled hair.

“you’re tired, kitten.”

“oh, i wonder why.” you deadpanned, not moving from your immense closeness to him. you were so needy to feel him and feel amazing with him, but you were also so exhausted. like hours of sleep would satiate you before you can do anything else.

your eyes began to flutter as sylus’ continued to give you gentle kisses down your chest to your nipples, taking them in his mouth and gently suckling at your hardening nubs. the neglected one was quickly given attention from his large hand, massaging and fondling you with love.

a smooth moan escaped your lips before your next yawn could. sylus’ lips and hands travelled further down until he reached the hem of your– actually his– pants and tugged them down your hips. 

“you don’t have to do anything,” he pressed a wet kiss on your bare skin, sending waves of need right to your clit. his touch would always be able to entice you. “we won’t go too far into it if you’re too tired. i can take care of you in many other ways.”

his crimson eyes slowly looked up to yours. his face was flushed pink from his cheeks to his ears. his gaze on you was painted with pure endearment and adoration. he kissed his way across your hips to your thighs, painting you in his endless affections all the way to your knees. 

“you know how much pleasure i get from simply worshipping you, sweetie?” you wouldn’t have been able to utter a response other than a squeak or a flustered whimper. a deep chuckle erupted from the depths of his throat.

“i get very satisfied from it. your pleasure is my pleasure. and i’m more than happy to take good care of you while you relax for me. may i?” he paused in the midst of his affections. he glanced up to check on why you were silent to find the cutest sight before him.

you were asleep. eyes, half closed but body limp and relaxed above to him. tonight must have really taken a toll on you. or maybe it was the pillow fort being so comfortable that you involuntarily held hands with the influencing whispers of slumber summoning you. either way, it was the most adorable sight he had seen just yet.

“such a sleepy kitten,” he chuckled, moving back up to lie face to face with you. he watched your chest rise and fall for minutes that ran as quickly as seconds. the tranquility in your state of rest was both comforting and beautiful to see. 

it was almost sunrise and even he was becoming more tired. he could perhaps encourage you to stay with him for long– maybe he could go on more missions with you to ensure you aren’t at much risk to be injured as you were today. he’d also have to send some of his people to investigate the targeted attack. he’d rather burn the known universe to a crisp before you ever face an injury like that again.

before he ever risks losing you.

but for now, for the time being, you were with him. alive and well. injured, yes, but alive. that was all that mattered. and the comfort of that alongside you being comfortably coiled in his arms was more than enough for him to invite sleep overcome him.

just for a bit.

[thegnomelord]

Shark Merperson reader is real gud.

- 🦈

(HOLY FUCK. THANK YOU TO WHICH EVER ANON REQUESTED THAT BECAUSE I FUCKIN LOVE SHARKS.

Now Im thinking of a Price x Reader, because shars are the oldest species known to exist. Obviously sharks arent immortal, they've just been on this earth way b4 tress bloody existed.

So Im thinking the readers an eldritch creature, they represent sharks as a whole, as long sharks exsist they exsist. Heck they mights of even of been Prices mentor when he was in his draconic 100s? (Late 20s?).

Imagine Price missing his friend calls him up to see hows hes doing. Reader elated to meet an old friend, accepts the invitation to meets up with him. Reader definitely scolds him for lossing a wing, honestly is pertrified Price lost a piece of himself and thought he was retiring due to it. Cut ahort to him smacking him slap dab on the head when he learns he's lost it a long time ago and didnt tell him.

Cue wholesome interactions th 141 and etc. Heck maybe some romance with Price.

Just a blurb i had yo tell you abt)

Okay, this tickles my eldrich abomination trying to act human itch

CW:SFW, eldritch reader, kissing

Price knows you're there the second he steps onto the old wooden pier, able to smell seaweed and brine and something in the air — what he thinks the bottom of the ocean smells like, old rot of decaying whales and older heat of geothermal vents — the soft wind billowing his hair like the breathing of an elderly beast.

He knows you're watching him, passively at least, washed up mermaid purses dotting the beach to give you a glimpse of the world above the waves through the yolks vital for the pup's survival, able to dream of the warm sun and course sand while you slumber beneath the waves.

"Oi, ser, yer look like a wee lass waiting for her sailor." Soap's sharp voice cuts through the air, the werewolf far too energized for his own good, the sand in his fur not dampening his mood when he can just shake himself off and flick the grains on Simon.

"Hah," Price snorts, "Maybe I am." He tilts his head back to the sea, sharp eyes watching the breaking waves. "Time to wake up old friend." He mutters your mangled name under his breath, mortal lips and vocal cords unable to replicate your own voice.

The young ones in his team lack the sight needed to notice your form slowly rise from the sea like a submarine breaking through the ice, only the visible flicker of air and the receding water keying them in. Price old enough to see you without needing the inner surface of his skull to be dotted with eyes. Though even he sees your real form like a man having a stroke — vaguely familiar at first yet the details are undefinable — flesh and sea melding together without rhyme or reason, long strings of seaweed bearing miniature eyes with pups wriggling inside, cookie cutter sharks boring holes through finless corpses so long eel sharks may form ever reforming sinews, fossilized bone and old rock giving giving support to the massive insult to reality's laws; birth and life wrapped up in death.

You're an affront to logic. And with one sneeze from existence itself you're human standing in front of him.

Eerily human.

Perfectly human.

Almost.

"What the fuck?" He can faintly hear Gaz's voice, all of them only now noticing you stand where you weren't previously.

Your hand touches his back before he even registers you move, always slightly damp, "When did this happen?" You ask as you trace the spot where his wing used to be. "What did this?"

"And a 'hello' to you too sweetheart." He clasps a hand around your waist, purring softly in greeting as he pulls you closer to his chest. Even if he sees you once every few centuries, even if you don't possess the ability to reciprocate, his love for you is as youthful as it was when he was but a wyrm.

Your facial features remain neutral like the ones of sunken statues, but you blink, and for a few seconds he can see that yawning abyss in your eyes. "Hi." You say, your hand still tracing the bump created by atrophied flight muscles, trying to judge how fresh it is. "Explain."

Your tone sounds like a predator baring it's teeth, but he knows you wouldn't harm him. "In a lil' bit." He snorts, puts pressure on your back until he forces your legs to move. "Come, want you to meet my boys."

The introductions are odd on both ends considering you hadn't spoken with people other than Price since that Icarus of a passenger ship mistook your fin for an iceberg and they've never met an old one like you. But you like them, they compliment Price just like the small scale he gave you makes the pearls and gold offered to you through the ages shine more.

Even if your face is unreadable, somehow they can figure out you're not too amused when you hear he'd lost his wing during a mission. "I told you arrogance would cost you." You at least you can mimic a sigh as you rub your head, "At least you retired." You say,

"We wish!" Soap snorts before he can help it, and the next thing they hear is a horrific crack that has them jumping out of their skin.

Your head had whipped 180 degrees with the rest of your body remained in place, the laws of nature nothing more but blurry guidelines. "You. . .did retire?" You ask, voice like the roar of a whirlpool.

"About that," Price starts, unable to finish his thought as you slap him upside the head as if he's still the whelp who thought he could brave an ocean storm.

"You'll put me in the grave." You growl, holding him by the ear, words spilling from your mouth like seawater filling the empty bowels of a ship. "I swear your scaly hide hasn't learned a single thing-"

"Should we help?" Gaz wonders as they watch you chastise their captain like he's a boy.

"No, this is great entertainment." Ghost chuckles.

"Want me ta grab the popcorn?" Johnny ads, already snacking, tail thumping against Simon's leg and growling playfully when Gaz reaches for the snacks.

Eventually your anger relents, mood changing as swiftly as the tide. You spend the time they have left learning about the men he's chosen as his hoard. Kyle's a bit weary of you just due to his harpy nature, but soon enough you two can be found sitting on the pier and fishing, and if you purposely make the waves flow so a big fish snags on Kyle's line, Price never says anything about it, not when his boy has a smile as big as the sun when he looks at the gigantic fish flopping on his hook.

You attempting to help Soap cook the barbeque, but you're fine motor skills are rusty after all these years of slumber, so the food is slightly burnt but Price loves when his food's basically charcoal and eats it with a smile, especially as it keeps you from telling all the embarrassing stories you have of him, from when he got his ass bit by a squid to when he was so horny he ended up rutting against an extra curvy piece of rock, though the rest have already heard enough dirt to bury him for the next several decades.

Unfortunately for Price, you and Ghost hit it off like a house on fire, and Ghost ends up learning far too many ways to hurt people without killing them that most definitely are against the Geneva conventions but you pull seniority on it. Simon in turn, teaches you how to play cards, which, when you're literally a god that can see almost everything including your opponent's cards, means the shmucks Simon ropes into playing you and Simon end up with empty pockets.

As the sun stars to dip behind the horizon you wind up sitting next to Price by the fire, the others splashing in the water.

You feel his wing spread behind your back to pull you closer to him, "I missed this." He says, knowing you won't comment on the 'I missed you' hidden behind his vellum words.

"Last time we met like this Napoleon was still emperor." You hum, a small yawn escaping you, sharp tips of shark teeth peeking from human gums. "And you had two wings." You can't help but point out, making it clear you've not forgiven him about not informing you.

Price pointedly ignores your later comment, his hand tentatively, almost shyly, reaching down to sit on top of yours. "Afraid I'll forget about you?"

His pulse picks up when you shift your hand to hold his, fingers lacing together when you don't have a tail as a human. "You wait for me." You shrug, holding your free arm up, reality wheezing for a few moments before his scale is suddenly in your hand, shiny and unharmed just as it was when he'd given it to you all those years ago. "And I dream of you."

His eyes widen and heart melts, a purr rumbling in his chest "C'mere sweetheart," He rumbles and pulls you into a kiss, free hand holding your chin stable.

You taste of salt and blood, of chilling cold and boiling heat, of something ancient and familiar and Price drinks it all down like a babe, tongue licking in your mouth and fangs nibbling on your lip, feeling you respond, the touch of hungering god as soft as silk, just to him.

But he knows this won't last.

A shark has no reason to stay on land, and a dragon can't survive underwater regardless of how much he wants. Soon you'll return to slumber, and Price won't know when he'll see you again, if he'll see you again, or if you'll learn of his passing when your waves swallow up his ashes.

He doesn't notice the prickling in his eyes but you do, wiping a stray tear with the pad of your thumb, your other hand still wrapped around his. "Don't worry John," You say, statue features finally cracking into a small smile, "I'll stay for a little while." You say and lead him into another kiss, the other members of TF141 leaving you two to catch up on lost time...

[serameli]

More og Thunderbirds headcanons because me and @wyrm-off-the-string are full of ideas

When they have the time, the boys (and Tintin) engage in epic paintball battles. Wearing pink is a pretty good way to avoid getting hit since one does not shoot Lady Penelope with paintballs

If the weather isn't good enough for paintball, indoor Nerf gun battles break out (made more interesting since Tintin had the bright idea to add setae tape to the end of the darts)

Nerf guns have found their way into the Thunderbirds and are generally used for cheering up distressed children (and adults) on rescues, usually at the expense of at least one brother's dignity (such as the time Alan shot a pellet at Virgil's arse, which he didn't notice until half way through the flight home)

Lady Penelope is the token neurotypical

The boys went through a phase of microwaving any and all foods

Tracy Island has a large population of geckos, several of which have set up permanent residence within the house (Gordon has named them all)

[laswells-ashtray]

My brain wyrms have been roiling in my mind again. I can and I can't see it, but Weapon!Kate, like she doesn't need a handler. Her shits together, she knows what she's doing. She knows how to get it done. And she is brutally efficient. The "ideal" for others to aspire to. But it's because she's so good at what she does, does everything by the "book". No one second glances when her methods get a bit... Cruel, pointed, sharp. Like a knife craving blood. The way she can move under the microscope and no one feels the need to look too closely. To question where or how she got this particularly vital information. She's good at what she does, simply too good. That people forget she's a stiletto in a knife fight. Doesn't even see it coming, even after it's said and done and far too late to stop.

~~ ✨✨💖 hiiii I missed you and your awesome writing and accidentally word vomited. 💖 ✨✨~~

The name Kate Laswell is a whisper on base, used as a threat rather than a name.

Methodical, systematic, callous and adroit. A handful of descriptors used when describing her. They'd have a file but there isn't enough ink to black out her catalogue of corpses.

A string of sudden suicides among corrupt politicians in Belgium. There was no public outcry, no ravenous grief swarming through the crowds of citizens as they found that yet another leader had massacred himself. Metacarple to bicep, weeping blood over their forearms and staining their designer suits.

Three politicians, that was their goal. They found the bodies of seven and the veins of an eight in a gift wrapped in a box. The rest of him remains wanted.

She had been polished when they had located her, trousers and shirt spotless without a crease in the fabric as she sat with one leg crossed over the other and a yoghurt in hand. The look of irritation she had dawned when they dare interrupted her was scathing.

She hadn't been tasked with questioning the man. She hadn't been informed of his presence, in fact, she hadn't been in the country when he had been detained.

But as she walks out of his cell, eyes narrow in disdain at the tacky blood smeared across the fabric of her suede black boots. It's the only visible mark on her. Her hair is in an updo, she had never been taught to care for her appearance but her fingers masterfully wound up the blonde strands to stop them from interfering with the efficiency with which she could do her job.

No hair falling into her line of view and harder for someone to try and drive their fingers through and then tug on the off chance that anyone was swift enough to lay a hand on her. Unlikely but she was prepared, speculating outcomes that they had yet to consider.

"Šiaulia, townhouse and his daughters are in hiding with his wife's cousin."

She recites the information professionally, wasting no time on minuscule details as she breezes through everything they spend weeks trying to beat out of him.

The man stares at her, bewildered as she walks away, her heels clicking against the concrete flooring with red footsteps left in her wake.

He peers into the cell through the crack in the door and only through years spent on the job does he stop himself from gagging.

His wrist is almost degloved, skin scraped raw from the bone in an attempt to fight his way free from the cuffs leaving him constrained to the bed. The flesh looks spongy but he lacks the confidence to prove himself correct.

There's blood seeping from his eye sockets, mangled gummy messes bracketing his head on the sheets. He's weeping ichor that oozes a metallic scent throughout the room. Virgin Marys have been known to cry blood, his sanguinary sobs had been demanded of him.

She had been kind enough to end his suffering. His throat is slit, blood drenching the thin sheets on his temporary cot as blood pools around the dull, metal framework.

He closes the door and looks down the corridor, eyes widening as he sees it empty. Three locked doors and a woman who had no keys rarely leads to an empty hallway, Kate Laswell often proves expectations to be false.

[vixstarria]

Kinktober Day 8 - Stuck in a hole

For every day of the month of October I will be posting a little snippet following prompts listed in this post. Most of these will not be full fics, but rather short snippets, set-ups, and, in a few cases, copied bits and pieces of fics I have already published. But, if there is a lot of interest and feedback on any of the snippets, they might just evolve into full fics, so keep that in mind.

Disclaimer / TW: This is a crackfic and I laughed like a hyena writing parts of it. You have been warned.

Lae’zel was not having a good day. Wound tight as a string that was about to snap, the last dregs of her patience slipping through her fingers, she yearned for the peace that could only be found in her blade’s slashing through the flesh of her foes.

Their k'chakhi ‘leader’ was off investigating or, more likely, robbing a bank with her two pet elves and the harper Jaheira - that woman, at least, could be trusted to keep the istik nonsense to a minimum.

In the meantime, Lae’zel had volunteered to lead the wizard, warlock and cleric on a reconnaissance mission within Wyrm’s Rock Fortress. Alas, through no fault of her own - it was the wizard’s ever-crackling knees that blew their cover - they were caught and placed in a holding cell.

At least their captors shared the usual istik lack of discipline and common sense - they were not even taken to separate cells. And now, with some help from the wizard’s spells, they were making their way back out of the keep.

The warlock guided the group through the halls and passageways of the fortress - he was familiar with the layout. They had reached a wall which contained a gap large enough to crawl through (careless, these city dwellers, allowing such breaches to remain within their structures). Lae’zel allowed the two men to go through ahead of her, with the cleric trailing behind, but just as she was halfway through, an earthquake shook the keep, dislodging yet more of the bricks and stones that lined the wall and ceiling above, and trapping her in place. The stones had collapsed in a way that made it impossible to simply lift them from her. Miraculously, she was unharmed, praise be to Vl- chk! - but she was, undeniably, stuck between the two chambers separated by the crumbling wall.

“Have you any spells that might be of use, in your arsenal?” Wyll directed at Gale, once it was determined that manual extraction methods would not suffice, and once it was confirmed that Shadowheart was also unharmed - no one could see her behind the wall that separated the chambers.

“I’m afraid I’ve exhausted all the cunning tricks I had stashed up my sleeve getting us this far… But perhaps we have a scroll for the occasion?” said Gale.

"There’s got to be a scroll of gaseous form here somewhere,” Wyll said, digging through a bag of supplies. “Animal friendship… Colour spray… Why do we even carry these useless things?”

As the two mages (inept, both of them!) continued to rifle through their inventory of scrolls and trinkets, Lae’zel felt soft touches on the backs of her thighs. Shadowheart ran her fingers over Lae’zel’s bare skin, lightly brushing it with the blunt of her nails.

Lae’zel squirmed at the touch. Tsk’va, why had she ever divulged to the cleric that she was ticklish? It was so unlike her, so unwise to disclose a weakness… And this was not the time for such frivolities!

Lae’zel attempted to kick Shadowheart away, but the cleric easily dodged her without pausing her increasingly ribald caresses.

“Lae’zel?” Wyll asked.

“What?” she said, curtly, as Shadowheart continued to trace her thighs with her fingertips, feather light, making her skin tingle.

“There is a scroll of grease…” he said, hesitantly. “Perhaps if we-”

“No.”

Shadowheart’s hands moved up along the insides of Lae’zel’s thighs, playfully caressing the sensitive skin there, and continued to creep up. Lae’zel had to admit that it felt pleasant, even if the occasion was completely inappropriate for it.

Just as she thought the cleric would finally cease her foolishness, instead, Lae’zel felt the cleric fiddling with the clasps of her under-harness.

No. She wouldn’t dare.

Her mind had barely finished formulating that thought when her harness came undone, exposing her core. Lae’zel’s eyes shot wide open.

She dared.

Shadowheart’s fingers continued on their path along Lae’zel’s sex - gliding along the edges but refusing to slip inside.

Lae’zel knew she should’ve fought or at the very least ignored and refused to succumb to the cleric’s touch, and yet, despite herself, she felt a needful pulsing between her legs, blood rushing to all her most sensitive parts. She knew she would be dripping with slick in no time, if she wasn’t already. There was no use trying to hide it.

She was bested. It was undeniable. At this point there would be more honour, more dignity, in submission. She would accept defeat, this time, and use it as an opportunity to learn from the victor.

Lae’zel spread her legs and lifted her hips higher, presenting herself to the cleric.

Just a few feet away from her, Gale continued digging through his supplies.

“Ah, I have a scroll of goodberry!” he said. “Perchance you would like a snack while we search for solutions?”

Lae’zel all but hissed at the wizard in reply.

The cleric had wasted no time in accepting Lae’zel’s gesture of submission, and slid two fingers inside Lae’zel’s throbbing hole - stroking, but also searching and prying. Tsk’va! She had taught her too well.

Lae’zel sobbed as Shadowheart’s fingers located and curled into her t’rac spot.

Curses, she thought. Another weakness she had thoughtlessly disclosed prior, in a moment of foolhardiness.

“Lae’zel, are you alright?” Wyll said, with worry. The cleric must have heard her outcry, for her fingers continued their relentless assault with renewed, excited vigour.

“It’s nothing!” Lae’zel panted. “I… I do not do well in enclosed spaces.”

The spot within her pulsated with each stroke of the cleric’s fingers - a delicious sting, a palpitating itch that demanded more and more pressure, driving her to the edge of madness.

“It is important that you do not panic,” said Wyll, crouching down by Lae’zel. “We will get you out.”

“I am not panicking,” Lae’zel managed, breathlessly.

“No, of course not,” Wyll said, kindly. “Now… Lae’zel? Can you look at me?”

Assuming that he would not let the matter lie, Lae’zel lifted her gaze to meet the warlock’s, all the while arching her back and spreading her legs wider for Shadowheart.

“I am with you, and I will not leave you,” he said.

Lae’zel swore under her breath.

“Nice, deep breaths now. You are a mighty githyanki warrior, this is nothing you can’t handle.”

Lae’zel breathed deep, trying to keep her breaths level instead of gasping and gulping for air like she wanted to. The cleric’s ministrations had brought her to the very cusp of release. Only a little bit more… Only a little bit- A desperate whine, completely unexpected even by Lae’zel herself, tore from her throat as the cleric landed a sharp slap on her rear, without ceasing the stroking motions.

“Take my hand, Lae’zel!” Wyll urged her.

She cursed again but took his hand, nearly crushing it with the force of her grasp.

The warlock winced, but continued his efforts in uplifting her spirits.

“You are doing so well!”

With a sob, Lae’zel hid her face in the crook of her elbow, lying face down on the ground.

The blasted cleric had reached around her hips with her free hand, and began to rub around her exposed clitoris.

“There is no shame in being claustrophobic.”

As the words left Wyll’s mouth, Lae’zel’s whole world seemed to shake, and she released an animalistic scream from deep within her chest, just as she knew a generous spray of release squirted from between her shaking legs, continuing to be urged on by Shadowheart’s strokes. Somewhere in the back of her mind, spitefully, Lae’zel hoped it landed on the cleric.

It took some moments, but Lae’zel soon realised that her earth-shattering orgasm had, indeed, been accompanied by yet more tremors which shook everything around them.

And then all was still.

Lae’zel still panted when she felt Shadowheart refastening the clasps of her harness. A light, playful smack landed on her rump, before the cleric adjusted the strips of pteruges on her armour back in place, and retreated.

“It seems more of the stones have been dislodged, perhaps we can pull her out now?” said Gale, after he and Wyll had ascertained that Lae’zel remained unharmed.

She thought she would be inclined to murder all three of her companions on regaining her freedom, and yet when they finally pulled her out by her arms, Lae’zel felt oddly at peace. She met Shadowheart’s eyes when she followed her out through the crevice, and only let out a soft ‘chk’ at the sight of the smirking cleric.

She would exact skilful, precise revenge on her, later. On her honour as a warrior, yes she would.

My Kinktober masterlist and prompts post

[fire-emblem-drabbles]

Pairing: Karlach x durge reader, Gortash x durge reader

Prompt: Some thoughts I had when I brought my dark urge and romanced Karlach to face Gortash.

Description: Having just survived a divine revelation from daddy dearest Bhaal and making your way to Wyrm's Rock, you're a little shaken but ready to face whatever Gortash may throw at you. You wanted to see Karlach have her revenge as sure as it was your own. Yet... something familiar and strange stirs within your blackened heart when you look at Gortash. And most frighteningly, he looks to you the same.

Rating: sfw

Word Count: 2678 3037

Notes: Happy 4:30 am I got off work and like a man possessed wrote this. It's not edited (yet) but if I don't post this and get validation I may just fucking die so. Have this terrible little brain baby! I just think it would be so tastey. No one wins here btw!

oh this is huge spoilers for dark urge/act 3 btw! I took some liberties but it's my fanfiction and I can if I want to

Edited: 10/1/23 (read it and there was a lot of mistakes lol)

Curiosity has guided you far, in this adventure. It’s helped you find the pieces of your past life, both those that proved to be a boon and that which you would have rather left buried. You’ve repressed your dark urges, fought them, proved to yourself and your allies, and especially your lover, that you’re better than that. Better than the person you once were. Better than what your father would have you be.

And it’s never been more clear than when you stand before Gortash now. You can feel Karlach before you, bristling at seeing his face. The way Wyll panics at seeing his father, obviously not himself. Gale, too, is is all wound up-- the emotions held in this room are fit to burst, and you and Gortash are the center of it.

You felt a flicker of it before, when seeing his face in the Ilithid colony beneath Moonrise. There was familiarity there; not the burning hatred that seized your heart when you looked at Orin, nor the cool indifference you felt upon taking Kethric’s life but something far different. The closet thing to normal you felt from your previous life. It scared you more than the murder, than the blood on your hands and the bile burning the back of your tongue.

He felt like home. A feeling you thought only Karlach could bring about you, of calm and happiness acceptance and all things nice and lovely that father would surely disapprove of. And when he speaks, when his disgusting honeyed voice and hardened gazes softens upon landing to you, when “My favorite assassin,” leaves his silvered tongue, you can see whispers of the past before you.

A part of it, mind, you might have preferred to keep lost. It comes in flashes and fuzzy moments, in warm feelings and beating heart. Your hand, held in his; your lips lost together. Bodies tangled and thoughts lost... You linger in those memories a moment, remembering how right it all felt. And thinking, how funny, even back then you were pulling away from father's puppet strings.

As you come back to the present, you're left stunned silent a moment, as his words flow in one ear and out of the other. This is Gortash-- the man who sold Karlach to the Arch Devil Zariel, who abducted Wyll’s father and whose manipulating the cult of the absolute and all the people of Baldur’s gate all at once-- and he’s the man who helped you learn what love is.

It's also so sickeningly familiar, the way your heartbeat picks up upon meeting his gaze. How he reserves an easy smile just for you, even if you’ve seen it hundreds of times. You have to close your eyes, to reach out and take Karlach’s hand despite how hot she’s grown. It's almost too much for you, to remember how happy you were with Gortash when you've been fighting for so long to find a way to keep being happy with Karlach.

“Solider?” Even through her own anger, her own disgust and sorrow and rage and madness, Karlach pauses, (your whole party does, in fact) in seeing the familiarity between the two of you. Seeing the effect Gortash has on you, their dauntless leader, their dear friend. If only they knew who they were calling their ally now...

“Holy shit,” Is all you can manage out in the moment. So many thoughts, little forgotten memories blink past your eyes. Karlach squeezes your hand, and you squeeze back just to let her know you’re still there.

“I didn’t think I’d have quite that strong of an effect on you,” he chuckles and you hate how you can tell it’s from genuine affection, and not twisted glee. He truly is glad to see you-- and why shouldn’t he be? It can't have been that long ago that the two of you were lovers.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You have to steel yourself in front of him, in front of your friends. But how can you deny it? Things have always been this way between the two of you. Delicate and strange and so wrong as to feel right.

“It’s nice to see you haven’t changed.” That charming smile, turned business as he turns to face your party whole. “I was worried, after Orin did you in. But I should have known you would return, find your way back to me.” He’s all confidence as he speaks, and you notice its mostly to you. It’s almost as if the room isn’t filled with courtesans, as if your party isn’t there to back you up. Like you aren’t clutching to Karlach like a lifeline.

“You’ll… have to fill in the finer details.” You admit softly, frown fitting your face. “I’ve reclaimed bits and pieces of my former memory but I’m afraid much of my former…” You hesitate as you consider who you were before all this “...life is beyond me.” You decide to remain as passe as possible. But perhaps he already knows you remember. Actually, your certain he does-- there’s a look of mischief twinkling in his eyes that surely only you can see. But cruelty is in his nature, as begets the chosen of Bane. You’re lucky, then, that for you, and only you, his urge can be diminished into something a little more charming.

“Why, without you this cult would be nothing! Well, without us.” He laughs again and you can feel your companions eyes upon you. “You and I came up with this whole plan-- to steal the crown of Karsus, overpower the elder brain, and use its powers to create a loyal army of cultists… if Orin hadn’t overthrown you, things wouldn’t be near a mess as they are now.” He rolls his eyes dramatically, a sigh fitting past his lips. “That sister of yours is quite the handful, and far less careful about controlling her urges. Why, with you back, and with Kethric’s nether stone no less, I dare say we have a chance to get things back in line again.”

“_____, what is he talking about? Why is he talking like he knows you?” Karlach’s voice tears through your thoughts, just as you feel her warm hand leave yours, and your party's gaze all land on you.

“Oh Karlach, dear sweet Karlach…” Gortash speaks again. “Are you certain you want to hear that?” Your breath hitches as he speaks. You were hoping Gortash would have more decorum than to admit what the two of you once hand. Perhaps its obvious to him how you feel about Karlach now. Maybe you looked at him the same way, once; maybe you are now.

Perhaps then, it's jealously that causes him to speak. You can't imagine how he must feel, seeing someone he got rid of so long ago stroll up with the person he thought was taken from him. Yes, now that you think about it, that would make him quite mad...

“You shut the fuck up, Gortash!” Karlach raises her voice before you even think to speak; Gortash merely smirks, speaks again with mockery lacing his tone.

“Indeed, _____, why don’t you enlighten your friends, your lover, about your past self?” Your name spoken from his lips was so, so nice. It made you ache in a sickeningly familiar way. And so too, was the venom in his when he spoke of your lover. Of Karlach…

“They know,” You manage to croak out. “With the tadpole they saw… saw the vision my father sent to me.” One that you had gotten hardly an hour before coming here, even. That you were a Bhaalspawn, of your dearest fathers own flesh. That you were his chosen before Orin struck you down. You knew that wasn't what he met. You were desperate to hide this-- like when your urge first overcame you, when that poor girl Alfira's blood stained your hands and camp...

“Then surely, you remember, about us?” Daring as ever, Gortash moves forward, to cup your chin tenderly with his gauntlet that held his nether stone.

How easy it would be, to twist the arm that dared hold you, to rip that precious nether stone from the sorry hand that dared touch your hallowed flesh.

“Us? What is he talking about?” You could hear the desperation in Karlach’s tone, even if you couldn’t see her. Your eyes were locked with Gortash’s, lost in them really. “_____, why are you letting him touch you?” Even from here, you could feel her heat. She was angry, so angry that he dare touch you. But scared, too. Scared that you weren't even trying to stop him.

You tear away from Gortash’s intense gaze, gently remove his hand from your person and ignore your urge. And so to, ignore the urge to reach out for Gortash in return. So many parts of yourself you have to deny, it was getting hard to know what’s really you…

“Fine. Fine!” You raise your own voice, uncaring of the puppets in the room. You turn to Karlach, to the only reason you’ve gotten this far. “You deserve to know anyways.” Still, you heave a sigh, for what is a heavier burden than the truth? “Yes, before Orin betrayed me, I was the chosen of Bhaal. But beyond that…” Even still, as the truth lingers on your lips, tingles on the tip of your tongue, you hesitate as you meet Karlach’s gaze-- as you filter to Gale and Wyll as well.

Your breath dies a moment as you see how worried they are for you. You’re scarcely worth such kindness, moreso from such good people as them. “Gortash and I were… close. Far closer than any plan may have merited. One might have even called it love, if you believe such evil capable of it.” You admit, looking to the floor. You wouldn’t be able to take the look of betrayal in their faces, nor the grin Gortash surely wore.

“I…” You can feel the way the anger leaves Karlach. Even if she didn’t want to show it you can feel through that dammed tadpole how numb she suddenly feels. “Right. You guys finish” She gestures vaguely to you, to Gortash “whatever the hell this is. I gotta go.” You don’t even have the heart to stop her. Don’t have the courage to watch her retreating form.

“Karlach, hold on!” Gale is quick to follow. You’d have to thank him for that. For doing what you should be doing. You can feel Wyll’s hesitation. But he stays. You’d have to thank him too. You don’t want to be alone (as much as the word means in a room fool of likely tadpoled individuals like yourself) with Gortash right now. Even if Wyll is just staying for his own father.

“There she goes.” Gortash is brazen now, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you in to his chest. You don’t know if it’s right to be this close to him, to hug him like you so desperately want to. “I do miss our time together. We could be still be together, work together. It would be my honor to restore you to your former glory-- to help you regain your title as Bhaal’s chosen once more.” The idea fills you with twisted glee. You recall, with errie smile, how Gortash was once wrapped around your little finger. How easy it could be to twist him to your designs, and kill him when it suited you most. How it would please father, how it would only make you stronger, to get such a distraction out of your life.

“That’s not who I am anymore.” You say with much force, creating some distance between you and Gortash. You're not sure if its about the two of you being together, or you being Bhaal's chosen. Still, he does not falter. He gets down on one knee before you, looking up at you with adoration. You hate it. You love it. It’s disgusting and beautiful and you know this isn’t the first time he’s been on his knees for you. Play your cards right, it may not even be his last.

“Even so, I can see how much your heart cries out for revenge. You mean to kill Orin, and as it happens I want her dead as well.” Again, beautiful hands, coveted nether stone, circle around your own. “We could rule together. Even your little… friends.” This was your plan, after all. Your genius that got this terrible cult going.

“Just what are you proposing?” You can’t help but squeeze his hands. Can’t deny the beat of your heart-- for the evil within must hear this promise of power. Coming from a man you may even still hold dear a part so strong it can't look away.

“We reforge our alliance. Bring our empire to fruition. My steel watch won’t harm you, so long as you kill Orin and bring her nether stone back.”

“_____…” Wyll’s voice surprises you. For a moment, it really was you and Gortash, and the empire you stood to create. “I know this must be a hard decision for you. Gortash seems to know you better than you do yourself this moment. But we need to consider all our options.” He reminds you. Pushing you towards neither extremes at this moment. A level head when yours was, as always, a shambling mess. "Remember how far we've come. How far you've come."

“That’s not a decision I can make right now.” You admit, hastily pulling away from Gortash. His face falters a little as he rises to his feet. “There’s a lot I need to consider.” When he stands tall again, looking to you, that familiar cocky grin is again in place.

“I understand. You always make the right choice in the end. But, just to prove my loyalty,” That word stings just a little. You hadn’t proved loyal to most anyone who trusted you, at least in this particular moment. “I’ll share this with you; an impostor is at your camp, right now.” You frown again as you look to him.

“Orin…” You grit your teeth as you consider your sister, how any one of the people you had come to trust with your life could be the backstabber herself.

“So if I were you, I’d act quick.” He smiles at you but you see how it doesn’t meet his eyes. “So, my dear, why don’t you stay for my coronation?” He laughs softly as he turns towards Duke Ravengard, who seems more statue than man at this moment.

You do just that, watch with wary gaze and heavy heart as Enver Gortash is ordained ‘Archduke Gortash’. Many tough decisions lie ahead of you and you couldn’t will yourself to think on a single one of them as you watched Gortash rise with a new fervor. He seeks your gaze, your approval, as the room erupts with applause. But it’s high time you left, to figure out what to do next.

You climb down the barren halls of Wyrm’s Rock with Wyll, unsure what to say or do next. You feel like you’ve had enough adventure and learning of your old life for once day, but of course Gortash gave you fear to return to your own camp as well…

“Are you alright?” Wyll stops you as you slowly walk towards the south span of Wyrm’s rock, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. You jump at his touch, only to sigh and relax when you realize it's just him.

“No not really, that was a lot for me.” You admit with a shaky laugh.

“I… were you truly involved with Gortash before… well, before?” He frowns, the look on his face hard to read.

“I… yes. I was.” It would be no use to lie.

“And now?” He asks, unexpectedly. “What now?”

“What now indeed.” You sigh and lean into him. Wyll supports your weight with a good natured hug. “I love Karlach, Wyll. I love her so much. But… old feelings linger in my twisted mind. Gortash was…” You shake your head. How can you explain that who you were, who you use to be… Gortash was the only person that you respected? That seemed to understand you, to meet you at your level? Even now as you thought of it, more cursed thoughts of your time together came back to you. It hurt, mentally and physically.

“I can’t say I understand, friend, but I know yours is a troubled past.” He pulls back from you, smile fitting his handsome face. “I think it would be best for us to head back to camp for the day.” He guides you that way, and you decide to follow his judgment.

“I just… hope that Karlach is okay. Had I known, I…” You shake your head. How could you have known? In a past life, you were lovers with the very man that ruined her life. The man that made it difficult for you two to even start a relationship to begin with.

“Rest, friend. You can’t of helped that.” You nod. He was right. But that still left you in the middle of some ridiculous love triangle…

You just have to decide, dearest, darkest urge, who is most important to you; Enver Gortash, Bane’s Chosen, tyrant of Baldur’s Gate and the matching mind to your own criminal plot to rule it all… or Karlach Cliffgate, the woman he ruined in the pursuit of his own power, and the one you promised to help end him.

Either way, there would be betrayal. Heartbreak. And fighting, for sure.

You could, of course, kill them both. That would solve so many problems for you! Feed your urge, please your father, and remove any obstacle that would distract from your goal. Wouldn’t it be delicious, to drink in their desire, thinking they’ve won your favor-- only for you to break that precious trust as their bodies twist under your blade…

This all of course assuming you could fight off your dark urge still... Rest would not come easy tonight, if at all. But it wouldn't be the first time. Come what may, you would forge your path forward.

[mirrors-writing]

WIP Fanfic snippet - spoilers for The House in the Cerulean Sea and also spoilers for the fanfic itself, because I like to write backward. Oh and the angst warning here is palpable (this is one of the most melancholy moments in the fic, though i do try to match the tone of the books) ---

“Curiously, no one else got sick,” Arthur said, “and while Theodore recovered in a matter of days, your health only continued to decline.”

“And that’s why I’m here,” Linus noted.

Arthur nodded. “Yes…” He trailed off, averting his gaze to the closed door, then back to Linus. Something in Arthur’s tone terrified Linus in an existential way. It was a fear he’d only felt once in his life, mere inches away from a vehicle that had come to a sudden stop before him. He’d been nine, and was crossing the street after getting off school. He must have failed to look both ways. He thought of that hook from his dream, that dream which was still ringing vivid in his head, and how desperately that creature he’d made rampaged, destroying the tether with the desperation of a dying animal. “Do you want to know what it was?” Arthur asked, breaking Linus out of his thoughts. Arthur was leaned back, head cocked and arms crossed. He was staring with that intellectual expression he wore when he was deliberately guiding their children to an answer they’d had yet to consider. He hadn’t seen that look in a while, and was surprised to find it directed at him. Beyond the surprise, a deep, boundless curiosity, for it was clear to Linus then that Arthur knew something he didn’t.

“What was it?” Linus asked.

“A flu,” Arthur responded simply. “I’ve not memorized the exact string of numbers and letters, but that’s neither here nor there. What is important is that this flu is only symptomatic for specific beings.” Arthur gave him a moment for the information to settle. Linus considered his choice of word. ‘Beings’. Had he and Theodore been ill with the same flu? That was odd, given their biological inconsistencies.

“Humans… and wyverns…?” Linus asked, trying to piece together the connection.

“One of those is correct.”

This only proved to further Linus’s confusion.

Arthur began to list the ‘beings,’ then, starting with Theodore, and holding a finger up for each one, counting them off. “Wyverns, wyrms, serpents, drakes, amphipteres, salamanders, select reptilian shifters and descendents of specific deities,” and finally, with a significant and purposeful pause, “dragons.” Again, Arthur waited a moment, studying Linus.

“But,” Linus said, a curious pang radiating through his body, “I’m not any of those things.”

Arthur released a long breath, eyes closed. “I’m afraid, my dear, that you’ve been misled.” His voice was so utterly sad, and so, so gentle, like he was grieving something on his behalf that Linus couldn’t quite grasp yet. It broke Linus’s heart to hear such a tone from his husband, regardless of what for, and he found he was struggling not to cry.

[wonda-ch]

Writemas day 8

Something new for todays writemas 2024 by @agirlandherquill

wordcount 528 🐉

Find the promt list here. Chosen prompts: "blinding fury" and "the screeching of wind through old stones".

Part one. It will continue in the next few days. ^^

The hunt

They had followed the dragon for three full days after the first attack. It flew slowly, and just far enough so that they could not reach it in time before it continued its flight. The fact that it was injured spurred them on, as did the gold offered for its head.

Experts, they were called. The three of them had already killed two dragons that had devoured the cattle of some small villages. This one was not much bigger, only its dark blue, almost black coloring distinguished it from the others. The biggest difference was that it fled when they wounded it, much to their annoyance.

They would have lost it long ago if the mage had not supported their pursuit. The dragon's last rest brought the decisive advantage. It seemed exhausted and remained on the ground longer than the previous nights, long enough for them to come within range and let one magically infused arrow find its target.

It reared up and roared in pain, then rose again and continued to fly with labored flaps of its wings.

Perhaps the beast thought it could hide and they would pass. But it was wrong. They had discovered the cave in which it had retreated to hide itself.

The mage, nearly burned out from the last few days, crouched behind some rocks near the entrance. He was ready to cast protective spells as soon as they knew how the dragon would attack.

The scout found an elevated position from which he could provide good cover. His deadly, precise arrows were ready on the string.

And he himself, trusting his magically reinforced armor, stood at the entrance of the cave, waiting for the blinding fury of the dragon.

Ready to lure the malicious creature out at any cost and cut off its head.

For gold, glory and honor.

In the screeching of the wind through the old stones, he could already hear the songs of glory that would be sung about him in his favorite tavern. His tale of days of exhausting dragon hunting would surely win him some attention from the ladies. Perhaps the fight would leave him with a small scar, which they would surely find attractive.

Slamming his sword against the polished shield in front of him, he stepped forward with confidence.

"Come out, monster!" he shouted into the cave, trying to see something inside.

Hundreds of tiny lights glimmered in the coal-black darkness of the cave. He held his breath. He felt as if he were looking at countless stars in a moonless sky, which moved gently up and down in front of his eyes.

A soft, friendly voice sounded in his head, like the soothing rush of a small river. "I have never harmed anyone and I have no intention of doing so. Go away."

The dragon slayer shook his helmeted head, certain and proud that he had successfully resisted an attempt at enchantment. With overbearing confidence, he stood in the middle of the cave entrance and shouted his bloodlust at the dragon.

"Get out of my head, wyrm! You will not enchant me! Come out and face my sword that will seal your fate!"

to be continued ...

[dannydanyl3]

DANDY'S WORLD OC

Dray Wuryom (Wuh-ree-om)

They look like a "worm on-a string" but they're actually based off a dragon called Lindwurm who is a dragon with only arms. He hides his arms so they just call him a wyrm: a dragon with no wings or limbs, and is kinda like a dragon-snake.. or a wormmm>:]*heh im so clever*. So he is just a fluffy wyrm on-a string.

"Pull string" trinket adds 12% walk+run speed after getting hit for 7 seconds for the flowy-ness of someone pulling a worm on a string.

"Low Profile" gives you 5 seconds of 20% run speed and 15% more stealth for a sneaky get away from twisteds.

Twisted Dray drags his lower body along the floor as he crawls around using his arms, he's slow dragging himself like that. When he chases you he stands up on his legs but he limps a lot while running. He's a fast twisted but easy to lose as running on his legs made of ichor hurts him so he gives up on running. On Panic Mode he runs on all fours quickly, almost as fast as Pebble but not quite.

Extra: he gets very close to the ichor machine to cover his hands as he fixes the machine. He's insecure about them, and uses his shawl-blanket to cover him and the valve up.

yes i found another game to be obsessed wit😗

[blackjackkent]

The guards give them no trouble as they escort Florrick to the upper level of Wyrm's Rock, and they are just starting to relax and believe they might get the Counselor out to safety cleanly, when--

"LORD GORTASH HAS BEEN EXPECTING YOUR ARRIVAL. PLEASE HOLD A MOMENT."

Rakha jumps with a startled yelp at the jarring voice of the Steel Watcher that seems to have materialized out of thin air next to her, and it takes every bit of control she has not to erupt in a fireball engulfing everything in the immediate radius. She's... very tense at the moment.

"Shit," she hears Wyll mutter, followed by a string of other curses of increasing inscrutability from Jaheira, Minthara, and Lae'zel. Rakha echoes all of them in her own mind. These Watchers see everything, know everything. They recognize her on sight - and now there's nothing else for it. Their cover is blown. There will be a fight, far before they're ready...

She has her quarterstaves halfway off her back in an instant-- and then freezes as the actual import of the words filter through.

Hold a moment?

They are not being attacked. A few of the Fist are looking at them with mild curiosity, but no one has a weapon drawn. The Watcher itself does not seem hostile. Nothing, in fact, is happening.

Florrick, standing between Minthara and Jaheira, takes a quiet step back and makes a concerted effort to blend into the brickwork behind her.

Narrator: The Watcher's presence fades, but another takes its place. Confident. Dominant. Commanding.

(A/N: My personal headcanon is that, in the D&D game in which I like to imagine all of this is taking place, the DM absolutely had a crush on their own NPC when it comes to Gortash. XD And meanwhile all the players are picturing him as a scrungly asshole with an anime haircut no matter how much the DM tries to convince them otherwise.

(No shade to Gortash shippers; he's just not my type at all. XD ))

The giant automaton's head cocks slowly to one side. Then a new voice emerges from it - Gortash's. And, bafflingly... he sounds excited.

"Greetings, old friend!" His voice sounds tinny and strange, coming from the speaker in the Watcher's chest. "Orin told me you were on your way here, but I scarce believed it! Welcome back to Baldur's Gate. Welcome home."

Rakha goes very still.

She remembers being held in the grip of the Absolute in her vision inside the walls of Moonrise Towers, and how that creature welcomed her with reverence and awe. It was a jarring moment, as it was the first time anyone, anything, had recognized her from her past and seemed glad of the recognition.

This is the second. Gortash knows her. He is glad to see her. He calls her old friend.

Welcome home.

Pain stabs through her head at the place where Orin's knife left its scar. She opens her mouth to speak and nothing comes out; her throat suddenly feels dry and tight.

Gortash, in any event, doesn't wait for her to answer. "Allow me to formally invite you to my inauguration," he says grandly. "Make your way to the ceremonial hall."

The Watcher drops its arms to its sides and turns and walks away, its heavy metallic steps echoing through the hall.

Rakha swallows tightly, struggling to find her voice. "We went through all that trouble to get inside-- and now Gortash invites us to see him?"

It doesn't make sense. Well, no - it makes all too much sense. And it terrifies her.

-----

They turn to walk out of the keep, and she realizes Florrick is looking at her with sudden distrust.(*)

"You know Gortash?" she asks warily. Rakha watches the Weave flicker around her; she's gathered an unspent blast of ice in one hand.

Rakha shakes her head. "I might have, once," she explains curtly. "I don't remember." A pause. "I don't remember anything."

"He called you a friend," Florrick presses.

Rakha's eyes drop to her right hand, watching the held spell swirl and ripple around Florrick's palm. "I was one of them once. Apparently," she admits flatly. "I don't remember it. They know me. I don't know them."

Florrick hesitates. Her grip on the spell lessens minutely but doesn't drop. "As long as this city stands, I will stand with it," she says curtly. "This is my promise. And if you mean to stand against me," she says tightly, "I will see that you fall."

Rakha grunts noncommittally. She has the woman's measure and she doesn't think Florrick would actually win if it came to a fight between them. But that doesn't matter.

"It's Wyll's city," she says quietly, and despite her best efforts, the words are heavy with exhaustion. Gods, I'm so tired of fighting. Of not knowing. Of tearing myself apart. "So I stand with it too. Whatever--" She swallows, feeling the sudden weight of the words as she speaks them. "Whatever Gortash might think."

Florrick looks at her appraisingly for a long moment. Then she looks at Wyll, and so does Rakha.

"We will stand with you, Counselor," he says quietly. "Have no fear of that. Your faith in this city should inspire us all."

Wyll's tired too, Rakha suddenly realizes. He's fighting the same battle she is, the battle between the two halves of her mind, only he is stuck on the outside looking in, unable to do anything but try to cling onto the good parts. And this is his city, and he's watching it start to tear at the seams, and just watched its new tyrant greet his lover with satisfaction.

And yet somehow he hasn't looked away, hasn't flinched, hasn't turned away no matter how much he must want to.

I don't deserve you, Rakha thinks - not for the first time, but with a new weight as she stands here on the edge of the keep with the blood of the Flaming Fist on her robes. And you deserve so much better than me.

Florrick considers silently for a moment, then nods. "Then I and the city both owe you a debt we cannot repay, Wyll," she says, equally quiet. "For getting me out of that damned prison. For giving me courage when I'd all but run out."

She glances at Rakha again. "I will travel to the Upper City, find what allies I can. If you truly mean what you say, that Gortash is no friend of yours, then you won't fight this coming battle alone."

The spell in her hand fizzles out. "See that you keep your word," she says coolly. "For his sake, if not for mine."

Rakha considers trying to explain the battle in her head, the desperate effort with which she strives every day to be someone Wyll can be proud of, her fear of her own failures and her terror of what waits for her in meeting Gortash face to face.

But there is time for none of it; Florrick gives her a curt nod and turns, disappearing into the Rivington crowd.

-----

(*) This is a mild rewrite of the actual scene you get after getting Florrick out of the keep. Makes sense to me that she would have some Questions after them being greeted by the Steel Watch like that. Lines in italic are from the game dialogue, everything else is mine.

[viscountessevie]

Excerpts of an Academic Essay on Brokeback Mountain [Part 1]

A/N: Hi everyone who saw my post two days ago and asked to be tagged!! The wait is finally over woo hoo! I know it's a day late but yesterday got away from me and the essay was in my hard drive rather than Google Docs so I couldn't upload from my phone.

ANYWAY here is Toxic Masculinity & Compulsory Heterosexuality - The Real Villain of Brokeback Mountain:

The title screenshot would hit a lot harder with my full name but I rather not be doxxed lmao and the rest of these sections are a part of the main introduction!

Taglist: @nopeferatu @skylarbee @allhappyandgay @wyrms-on-strings @heysmalltownboy @lambheadedboy @victorious1956 @icannotreadcursive @roranicuspond

[If anyone in the film's tag came across this and wanna be added to the taglist, please feel free to sound off in these notes or on my previous post!

[wyrm-mlm]

Get to know your mutuals: tag game

Thank you so much for the tag @wishchip106 !!

I love to yap so get ready y’all!

What's the origin of your blog title?

So Wyrm has become a sort of online nickname for me. I even have a tattoo of a “Wyrm on a string” like the 80s toy with dragon wings cuz wyrms are a type of dragon(yes I know they’re a wingless dragon but most people don’t know that.) Mlm is because I love multi level marketing that gay shit

OTP(s) + Shipname:

Oooooh boy do I have so many. My current ones are Cherik, Wolfstar and Jegulus(a new one for me but it has latched onto me).

I would also say Jayvik but I haven’t watched enough of the show. I just wanna put them into a bottle and shake it.

Some older ones I occasionally come back to are Spirk, McSpirk, Hannigram and Dreamling.

(Note: Fuck JKR and Neil Gaimen I hope they both rot.)

Favourite colour:

Rainbow. Although if I had to pick one, some sort of dark green.

*Glares at the spelling of colour in American*

Favourite game:

DnD, Animal Crossing and most Legend of Zeldas

I have also currently been playing Supermarket Simulator and House Flipper

Song stuck in your head:

I won’t say (I’m in love) from Disney’s Hercules

Weirdest habit/trait?

I can’t eat in a dark room/if I can’t see my food

Hobbies:

Writing, drawing, baking, and I learned to crochet last year!

If you work, what's your profession?

Currently Theme park Hospitality. Both food and beverage (Seaworld) and Slide Attendant (Universal’s Valcano Bay)

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? Realistically?

Anything with animals. Worked for a year as a veterinary assistant at an all cat hospital. It was wonderful but my mental health couldn’t take it.

Something you're good at:

Trivia, especially involving animals.

Something you're bad at:

Taking care of myself.

Something you love:

Animals, fan fictions, fandoms, roleplaying

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff:

Animals. Especially the care and husbandry of common pets/livestock.

Something you hate:

Bigots. Chronic fatigue. Back pain.

Something you collect:

Orange Bird merchandise. He’s just a little guy and I am obsessed.(if anyone wants to see my collection let me know)

Something you forget:

Yes.

What's your love language?

Quality time and gift giving(Particularly sharing food.)

Favourite movie/show:

Movies: The Lion King(original), Star Trek IV The Voyage Home(the one with the whales) X-Men First Class

Shows: The Witcher, Avatar The Last Airbender, Supernatural (cringe I know)

Favourite food:

Chowder, fresh tomatoes, orange juice

Favourite animal:

I love all animals(except most parasites bleh)but some I’m quite fond of are Cheetahs, maned wolves, vaquitas, and bees

What were you like as a child?

I wanted to make friends with everyone. I was also very smart but never did my homework.

Favourite subject at school?

English, American History any anything science

Least favourite subject:

World History (sorry) and PE

What's your best character trait?

I haven’t given up yet 👍

What's your worst character trait?

I can come off as a bit of a know it all. I also have little patience or kindness for myself(I am working on this)

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?

Money please

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet

Steve Irwin. And maybe the currently passed cast of Star Trek TOS

@veevil you’re getting tagged twice! Also @twistyoliver if you wanna